


PegasusEuroVision Song Contest! As Presented by Terry Wogan!

by Buddleia



Category: Eurovision Song Contest, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buddleia/pseuds/Buddleia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Crack.  Pure and simple.  Can I just say that Ciderpress made me do it?</p>
    </blockquote>





	PegasusEuroVision Song Contest! As Presented by Terry Wogan!

**Author's Note:**

> Crack. Pure and simple. Can I just say that Ciderpress made me do it?

“Who is that guy?” said Rodney, nudging John in the ribs. Elizabeth glared at Rodney and shook Terry Wogan’s hand with the same exaggerated enthusiasm she showed to Planetary representatives who had refused to leave their weapons behind. He twinkled at her charmingly and turned to the camera. “Now, this lovely lady is in charge – and we _like_ women in charge, don’t we – of the Atlantis base, the _Earth_ base we’ve heard _so_ much about.” His voice was warm and the Irish brogue carefully and professionally modulated for maximum effect. Katie Brown put a hand to her chest and actually simpered. Rodney looked disgusted.

“Well now, that could have gone a little better, I think!” said Terry, brightly, as Steve the Wraith wailingly came to the end of the song ‘I will kill you slowly because I don’t want to miss a thing and nor do you because it hurts so good’. “Even the Gou’ald might not be prepared to give their traditional 8 points to the Wraith for that! “ He coughed lightly, “You may not know that there’s been a teeny bit of infighting backstage here over the Wraith’s entry. There have, of course, been many changes in the Pegasus Galaxy since last year, and once again we find ourselves with brand new borders to deal with. The Wraith Queen – you might have seen her picture a moment ago – has been arguing for two Wraith slots, but our judges, ah, our judges are quite sure that there is only one slot for the Wraith. Ah – we’re just going to take a moment backstage for a chat with Steve-”

Teyla lifted her arms above her head and allowed the last notes of her song to fade away. Halling lowered his tambourine, and enthusiastic applause filled the auditorium. Emotion filled Terry’s voice. “Well now, that was marvellous, and I’m sure I’m not the only person to think so. Reminds me of the glory days of this wonderful, wonderful contest. Teyla Emmagen, leader of her people – and we_ like_ women in charge, don’t we – and also a member of the Atlantis exploration teams here, a fact which nearly got her excluded from this year’s entries, but the judges agreed that the dress alone wouldn’t really work.”

The fourteen-strong troupe of devastatingly beautiful people in narrow strips of cloth finally came, panting, to a halt. Their production equipment gave a horrible squeal as the pounding beats faded out. There was some applause and a lot of whistling. Elizabeth had gone cross eyed in a transparent attempt to hold levity at bay. John was looking uncomfortable, but clapping loudly anyway, while Rodney lay, crying with laughter, on the floor. John poked him hard in the ribs with a boot.  
Terry, for the first time, allowed chilly disapproval to enter his voice, “Well now, I have to say that this competition is a SONG competition, not a DANCE competition. I’m sure the Brothers and Sisters of Chaya have worked _very hard_ on their _moves_, but, personally, I have to say that their _singing_ left something to be desired. I do hope this show is being broadcast after the watershed for all you lovely people at home – I get a little confused by the time difference, as usual – because that little show was possibly just a little bit _rude_.”

“Oh, dear,” said Terry smoothly, “this kind of thing does make me feel old.” The twelve year old on stage was yelling into a mic, while his seventeen year old friend – covered in mud and leaf imitation jewellery – made the kind of moves on stage that would make rap artists hide under their beds in cringing horror. Rodney leant towards John and muttered, “That was terrible.” John looked at him with raised eyebrows.  
“You think so? I thought it was pretty cool.”

Ronon actually had quite a good voice, if you ignored the animal imitations.

The delicate music of the stringed instruments went beautifully with the harmony of voices, which also went well with the various shades of pink costume, showing, by their colour, togetherness, yet also, by their variety, individuality and mutual respect. John’s ears were also a pretty shade and he looked at the floor as he clapped. Rodney just snored.

After some years, according to Rodney, the marking began.  
“Well now, that was a fairly harsh assessment of the Atlantis effort by the Genii,” said Terry, audibly sipping at something, “I haven’t seen anyone else trouble to find traditional Scots costume for a Barbra Streisand duet. One hopes the Genii are aware that not many people appreciated the ‘Battle of Us Against Everyone Else/For The Mission’ medley.”

“And now we see the usual team support in play – yes, there’s the Gou’ald giving the Wraith 5 points. Not as good as _last_ year, but personally I think more than poor Steve really deserves.”

Terry bowed to the audience and waved the winners on. They enthusiastically wiggled and the strips of cloth they wore waved in the breeze. As the pumping dance beat started up for the second time, Teyla and Ronon visibly glaring, all the marines started whooping, and John took a deep, deep drink.

 

~end~


End file.
